These treatments are really funny if you look at them in the right light.  Add $3.50 to our running total.  On Saturday I had been feeling lousy, completely prisoner to the progesterone, and my sweet husband agreed to order "Ratatouille" on Pay-Per-View.  I thought it would be perfect because I like light-hearted cartoons and he likes cooking shows.  But within 10 minutes poor little Remy was paddling like hell, floating on his stolen cookbook, trying to keep up with his family as they were fleeing in the sewers from the lady with the shotgun.  And much to James's surprise and concern, suddenly loud sobs start coming from the couch.  He came to sit by me and put his arms around me as I wailed, "He was going as fast as he could... his family was so far ahead and he couldn't reach them... and the mean lady... and poor Remy... SOB... and it was so scary!... SOB SOB... He must be so scared!"  Suffice it to say that we switched back to our old standard, the emotionally innocuous Law & Order, and James went off to make me some brownies as I finished up my sniffling and settled back down to knitting.  I can't wait to stop being insane.  It's so inconvenient. Sunday afternoon I told James that I thought I could handle it now, but he didn't want to chance it.  He says I can see "Ratatouille" this summer if I still want to.